~ A fairy-tale cottage by the Seine in Normandy

Category Archives: Travel

We love it when our guests share pictures of their holidays with us. It goes without saying that we’re hopelessly biased – and firmly believe that Vieux-Port is one of the most photogenic villages in France.

This time we have something entirely new – pictures taken by drone! See if you can spot the house.

A guest contributor takes us on a tour of Normandy’s World War 2 battlefields

The world-changing liberation of Europe began on 6th June 1944 on the beaches, in the fields, through the streets and in the bocage of western Normandy. The region is replete with museums and memorials which tell the awesome and uplifting story of the Allied Invasion and the individual deeds of countless brave and clever men and women.

The historic D-Day battlefields are well worth a visit, and start about an hour’s drive west of Les Iris. A D-Day visit does need to be planned, as there is more than enough to see and do in one day. But visitors who wish to devote more time to it will be well rewarded.

The closest beaches to Les Iris are Sword (British), Juno (Canadian) and Gold (British). These are flanked on the east by the River Orne and its Canal. Omaha and Utah (both American) are further to the west.

A good place to start is the famous Pegasus Bridge at Benouville, over the Caen Canal, the first bit of France to be liberated just after midnight on 6th June, by British glider-borne troops, in a brilliantly planned and executed swoop. This strategic crossing was taken and held by lightly armed airborne troops, including paratroopers of the 6th Airborne Division dropped in the small hours, until relieved by Brigadier the Lord Lovat, whom Churchill described as “the handsomest gentleman ever to slit a throat”. His commandos, fighting hard across-country all the way from Sword beach, four miles away, arrived shortly after midday, just two minutes behind schedule. Nevertheless, the immaculately mannered, Highland aristocrat modestly apologised for being ‘late’.

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From here it is a short drive north to Ouistreham on the coast, then west past Sword and Juno to the western end of Gold beach at Arromanches, with its museums, restaurants and cafes and what remains of the ingenious, artificial Mulberry Harbour, which the British brought with them.

At Omaha Beach (American) west of Arromanches, where the GIs took heavy casualties, the informative and moving American Cemetery and Memorial overlooking the beach is a must-see. Look out for the photographs of the four Niland brothers, on whom the movie, Saving Private Ryan, is based. Fritz (the real-life Ryan) was shipped back to America so that the Niland family wouldn’t lose all their sons. Mirabile dictu, Edward, who was originally thought dead, escaped Japanese captivity, so that in fact two of the four brothers survived the war.

But the big choker is the sight of 9,000 headstones, mostly marble crosses, interspersed with stars of David, all arranged in perfect symmetry, marking the graves of American soldiers who made the ultimate sacrifice for freedom, right across Normandy, and were laid to rest here in the majestic Omaha Beach Cemetery.

If your spirits need a lift after this sobering experience, visit the nearby Pointe du Hoc, to the west of Omaha, where US Rangers scaled 100 foot cliffs on London Fire Brigade ladders to capture the enemy gun emplacements on top, which they did in a dazzlingly well-planned, courageous and successful manoeuvre.

Utah Beach (American) on the Cotentin or Cherbourg Peninsula is the most westerly of the five beaches and the one on which the German resistance was lightest. If you have time, visit the invasion museum at Sainte-Mère-Eglise, which is arguably the best in Normandy.

Those who are old enough to have seen the film The Longest Day will remember that one American’s parachute snagged on the church tower – and he’s still there, it would appear!

On the return journey, take the time to visit Bayeux, if you can. This ancient town was one of the first the British, coming south from Gold beach, took from the retreating Germans. Being spared serious fighting, Bayeux retains its medieval charm, not to mention the Bayeux Tapestry, which tells the (somewhat spun) story of the last successful Invasion of England in 1066 by William the Conqueror.

Bayeux also has a good ’44 museum and across the road, you will find the main British cemetery in Normandy, wonderfully well-maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. It contains the remains of over 4,000 Commonwealth sailors, soldiers and airmen, over 300 of them unidentified, as well as over 500 war graves of other nationalities, the majority German.

Like all such cemeteries, it is laid out in an under-stated, dignified and uniform style, first adopted in WWI. One of the original designers, Gertrude Jekyll, wished to create the ambience of an English garden and suggested that small rose bushes should be planted among the graves so that “The shadow of an English rose shall fall at some point each day on every headstone.”

In the cemetery register, look up the citation to Sidney Bates, the 23-year old son of a Rag-‘n-Bone man from Camberwell in south London. The Corporal’s quick thinking in thwarting a determined enemy attack and courage in fighting despite multiple wounds until his battalion’s position was no longer threatened, earned him a posthumous Victoria Cross, Britain’s highest award. The Victoria Cross insignia is carved on his headstone with the words, ‘For Valour’.

Visiting all these sites would require at least two days – and this only covers the first phase of the Normandy campaign: the ‘break-in’ to establish and consolidate a beach-head. The ‘break-out’ took two more months of heavy fighting and even heavier casualties. The British & Canadians, driving south, were time and again checked by the Germans in desperately hard battles around and beyond Caen, before General Montgomery eventually took it and broke out south towards Falaise.

Meanwhile, the Americans took St. Lo in the west and General Patton unleashed his tanks in a fast-moving right hook, or series of hooks, heading first south then east (and north) to Argentan, to trap German Army Group B, in a giant pincer movement, between the two allied armies, in what is known as the Falaise gap or pocket.

Although some fugitives managed to flee eastwards, the bulk of the German forces here were killed or captured. Enemy resistance in France, not just in Normandy, effectively collapsed and the way lay open to Paris, which was liberated on 25th August 1944. Amidst scenes of delirious joy, the Parisians warmly welcomed their liberators. Allied Commander-in-Chief General Eisenhower held back his American forces to allow the Free French 2nd Armoured Division (DDB) the honour of re-taking their Capital.

The enemy was now caught between two fronts – American & British in the West and Russian in the East – resulting, after many more months of heavy fighting on the roads to Berlin, in complete victory over the Nazis.

Everyone, young and old, returning or a first-time visitor, will find something of interest in the inspiring stories of D-Day. I visited alongside parties of schoolchildren from all over Europe – Britain, Germany, and many other countries. There was no jingoism or militarism, just people of all ages and from all over the world, learning the story of those who put themselves in harm’s way to secure the freedom, peace and prosperity which many enjoy today and which we perhaps too often take for granted.

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Another visit to the wonderful zoological park at Clères, which we have visited before. The collection was established as a private zoo by ornithologist Jean Delacour at his chateau north of Rouen. Later donated to the state, the collection of animals reflects his travels in Vietnam, Madagascar, and Central America. On this visit the gardens were a mass of spring flowers and blossoms, and the animals and birds, who live in semi-freedom, were active and full of song.

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It’s a truism to state that there’s little glamour in flying. All those transatlantic flights, lodged in the back of the plane with a screaming toddler and a broken TV screen. Or the low-cost landlocked journeys east, as far as you can go and still be in Europe, knees in your face, costs a fortune for a coffee. So what a joy to start a flight from Deauville Airport!

It’s a two-gate terminal with a couple of weekly flights to City Airport, London, and charter flights during holiday seasons. There’s a flying school, and many private planes coming in and out. In the parking lot (a mere few metres from the airport terminal) a child of around 7 announces “My Dad has his own private plane.” Most people here do, I think. There’s a smart bar upstairs, and a restaurant with crisp white tablecloths and 3-course meals. No rushing for ferries and trains, or driving hours south from the ports. What better way to pop into your holiday home in Deauville or Honfleur?

The CityJet plane is luxurious: leather seats and good leg room. Drinks are free, staff are courteous. There is fresh coffee and a Leonidas chocolate before landing. The plane stays low on a cloudless day and offers excellent views of Deauville with its sandy beach, marina, casino and racecourse. Later, there’s a birds eye view of London from Battersea Power Station over Parliament and along to the Olympic Park with its gleaming arenas. “A Peter Pan view” comments the briefcase-wielding gentleman in front of me who the staff know by name, perhaps he has something to do with the races or the film festival. Anyway, he’s right: if this were a Disney ride, you’d get back in the queue for another go. How’s that for a great flight.

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Every five years, tall ships gather in Rouen for the Armada. They then sail back down the Seine together to Le Havre. Here are some of the boats, which you can visit, this weekend in a very crowded Rouen.

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Ever wondered why there are roosters on the churches in France? We even have a former steeple rooster on the roof of our cottage. I was delighted to explore this corner of history in this wonderful post from My French Heaven.

It was in the Isère last year that I found a table solution for our troublesome kitchen-diner space in London. Visiting a friend in her chic chalet in the French alps, I saw a table that was just perfect: long and narrow, made from lustrous French boards, with a modern touch in the smoky iron legs. I asked where she had found it–an antiques shop in Grenoble, perhaps, or an estate sale in the French countryside?

Not at all. It came, in fact, from The French House, which is in York and in Fulham not five minutes from our London home. They go all over France and collect wonderful furniture and decorative objects. They also make furniture using reclaimed wood. They had made my friend’s table, and they would make ours.

The also had these mid-century French card chairs which they polished up and reupholstered for the table ends. It felt wrong to buy French furniture from a London shop when we spend so much time in Normandy. At the shop they weren’t surprised at all. They said many people buy furniture for French homes in London. There isn’t enough time to get around and sift through the brocantes yourself.

Another quite fabulous option, if you can find it, is Home Art & Matiere just down the road from Les Iris in Villequier. Occupying the old pilot’s house, right on the Seine, H.A.M. is a wonderbox of treasures, each room painstakingly curated and filled with carefully chosen artifacts. The kind of place you go to find what you didn’t know you wanted.

Of course there’s a catch: it’s only open on Sundays from 3 – 6 pm. Our recommendation: take lunch in nearby Caudebec-en-Caux, and tour the Victor Hugo Museum. From the museum go left along the river to the old pilot’s house, and then browse to your heart’s content as the sun goes down.

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The Christmas tree sellers are out in force this weekend, and doing a brisk business. Here’s what I wrote about Christmas tree decorating last year. Not much has changed in the intervening months: it wasn’t a year for far-flung travel for our family. The only new tree decoration is a traditional Romanian straw hat bought with spare change on the way out of Cluj. And still, there are no French decorations.

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When traveling for pleasure we like to find local decorations for the Christmas tree. It’s a way to remember some of the interesting places we have visited. It’s also a great excuse to buy tourist tat without making seriously expensive mistakes. My parents did the same, and their tree is heavy with adventures. My favourite is the wooden cosmonaut they picked up at Moscow airport in 1971. He hangs on the tree, a reminder of a vanished era of aspiration and confrontation.

Here are some of the decorations on our tree this year.

This glamorous shopping lady is from Colorado. She has always struck me as overly stylish for the Rockies–perhaps she is taking in the après ski scene inAspen. We found the hand-made lace angel next to her in Tallinn, Eastonia. Tallinn’s old town is beautiful and perfectly sized for a weekend visit if you can just manage to avoid the stag party crowds. The tango dancers are from Buenos Aires, where we watched equally craggy dancers dipping and spinning around the streets of La Boca.

I wonder if the Bengal tiger is wearing lipstick, or is that the remains of dinner around his mouth? He roars fiercly at the snowmen and santa decorations. We found the sweet-faced Pinnochio in Orvieto, a hilltown in Umbria, Italy. When I lived in Italy as a child I worried through Christmas that the old witch Befana who visits on the Ephiphany would bring me the coal that naughty children get instead of gifts.

The little ladies are from Guatemala, where we marveled at the Mayan ruins in Tikal. In Iceland we stayed at the isolated Hotel Budir on the Snaefellsnes peninsula. No vikings in sight there, but it was easy to imagine elves emerging from the mysteriously shaped lava rocks all around.

This crown above and the chandelier below are English, from the Victoria & Albert Museum shop which sells unusual and unique Christmas decorations. The cowgirl is from Texas and I love her sparkling belt buckle. I’m not sure she does much cow herding in this outfit: maybe Daddy owns an oil well.

My brother clerked for a time at the Supreme Court, and he arranged for us to take a tour and hear the justices hand down a decision. It was amazing to be there and watch history in motion. The blue Matisse blue bulb is from MOMA, New York and the green bulb is from Hawaii’s National Tropical Botanical Garden.

We think of the tree a work in progress, with many gaps to be filled. There is one gaping hole that I’d like to fill quickly. We spend so much of our time in France and yet have nothing to put on the Christmas tree. So please help me – where is the best place in Paris or Normandy to find Christmas decorations? And what are the most typical French Christmas tree decorations?

One of the joys of spending time in Normandy is visiting the area’s bountiful food markets. Our local market, held on a Friday, never disappoints: but in those weeks when we’re traveling or otherwise occupied on a Friday, a close second best is exploring the other markets of Upper Normandy and Calvados. This month we made our way to Pont-l’Évêque, where the weekly market is held on a Monday. It’s home to the eponymous cheese, and to a lovely church which survived wartime bombing.

The point of local markets is they change every time. You go for the seasonal produce and for the individual sellers. It’s the opposite of supermarkets, where it’s downright inconvenient when the aisles are changed around adding a precious few minutes to your already too-long shopping time.

In the first week of November, there were chestnuts, quinces, and the alien-fabulous chou romanesco. I’ve never cooked any of these, although the guests at our cottage the week before had collected chestnuts in the forest and roasted them over the open hearth. I’ll have to try that, and here’s how.

I love these pre-prepared bundles of meat: so lovely and neat and easy, the original, organic, guilt-free ready meal.

And the chrysanthemums were flying: you could see them lining the village streets, and all around around the cemeteries where families were marking November 1st, a day of remembrance. We left some by the cottage gateposts: I wonder how far into the winter they’ll last.